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"Oh, you've got to be kidding me!"
Harold groaned as Superman seemed to instantly materialize on the opposite side of the gym and began to frisbee toss specialized 100lb. pound plates to Aquaman, who promptly loaded them onto a barbell. The two heroes had been at their work out for a while now, and the bar was already loaded down with over a dozen plates on each side. Another instant later, Superman seemed to poof back into the squat rack and was adjusting the weight across his back before moving into his repetitions.
"Pft! You call that a rep?!"
Harold stole inconspicuous, side long glances at the superheroes, mumbling irritably to himself as the duo half squatted their way through another handful of sets, just to see if the biker shorts wearing bastards would bother returning the plates to their proper place once they were finished. But, of course, they did not.
Harold let out a long, slow breath as his thumb and forefinger pinched the bridge of his nose. He was at his wits end.
He'd only worked at SuperSpot, a gym tailored to the super needs of the superheroes of the world, for the last three months. He'd been there just long enough to learn his way around the massive weight room and, just three days prior, he'd been promoted to Floor Supervisor, a position that, he learned a little too late, included cleaning and staging the entire gym floor at the end of every night. As he watched The Flash zip around the room and disrupt three machines he'd just wiped down, seemingly simultaneously, he quickly understood why there was such a high turnaround rate associated with the position. He was ready to quit and go back to the easy life of registering new members and laundering the used towels already! These people were uncontrollable! Weights littered the gym floor and racks, in all the wrong places, and machines glistened with the sweat of the hard-working superheroes.
Harold had spent nearly three hours, unpaid, cleaning and reorganizing the weight room the last three evenings, and here those same muscle heads were- ruining it yet again! And with only thirty minutes left until close at that!
"Fucking Super Man and his super crew… Hmph! I wonder just how super everyone would think they were if they'd seen them in Jenny's hip hop Zumba class this afternoon..."
Harold grumbled under his breath as he sprayed a leg press machine with disinfectant. He wiped at the machine angrily with a rag, flinching sporadically, as metal clanked around on the far side of the gym. This would go on in the same fashion for another ten minutes or so, with Harold huffing inaudibly to himself as he cleaned, while Superman and his friends continued on with their workout, none the wiser. Finally, after what felt like the thousandth jarring clank, Harold's neck snapped up, and as his gaze scoured the space for the source of the sound. Instead, it landed on a bulletin board that the trainers had littered with informative flyers showcasing all of the different group workouts being offered for the month, and an idea struck him suddenly. He abandoned his cleaning task and walked briskly over to the computer behind the front desk, where his oversized fingers jabbed awkwardly at the keyboard.
A short while later, Harold proudly, and gingerly, held a crisp white sheet of paper in his hands. He passed a flat palm over his head to straighten his hair as a draft disrupted it and read over his work carefully.
Perfect! Now all he had to do was make a few copies and tape them up.
His gaze locked on a large empty space on the wall, right in the middle of the weighted space, where he could put up a few flyers. Everyone would see them; they'd be impossible to miss!
Harold gulped softly, with swiftly diminishing confidence, as he realized that not only would he have to walk past a large majority of the few heavy lifters left (Superman, Aquaman, and, at the present second, The Flash included) but also, that there was no way he could traverse the space and tape up the flyers unnoticed. He had just settled on the idea that he would suck it up and suffer through one last night of cleaning and then post the flyer, once the floor was empty, when it slowly settled in that he'd already been noticed.
The entire weight room had halted in their workout and was staring at him. The silence was defeating, and Harold's complexion paled considerably on the spot in response to the sudden unwanted attention.
Superman's gaze seemed particularly steely, and Harold wondered briefly if there was a second's warning before the man's eyes shot laser beams or if he was liable to be split into two at any given moment.
"So- you want us to rack our weights?! Or should I speak to 'management'…" Superman yelled out, his fingers lifting to make air quotes as the vein in his neck pulsed threateningly.
Harold gulped again and quickly crumpled the paper in his hand into a small ball and jammed his hands into his pockets as his face went beat red and he worked double time to keep himself from pissing his pants. He could only assume the draft he'd felt a minute before had actually been any one of the speedy Supers passing by and reading the flyer over his shoulder before sharing the message with the rest of the gym goers. He could have slapped himself for being so foolish! It was just a few misplaced weights and uncleaned machines… now he had a gym full of pumped up, pissed off heroes to deal with too! His breath quickened nervously.
"Ohh.. uhhh… that…Well, um- No. No, no, no…" Harold looked around the room, becoming more and more frantic with each disgruntled face he landed on. A sweat broke out on his brow as he licked at his lips excessively.
"That was uhhh- just a joke... Ha haha-" He rasped out and forced a chuckle before grabbing at the disinfectant and beginning to rigidly clean the nearest machine. Maybe if he pretended nothing had happened everyone would just go back to their work out...
The gym erupted into a chorus of hoots and guffaws.
Harold's eyes jerked up, confusion furrowing his brow.
"Huh?!" Superman was suddenly beside him, wiping at his eyes as he clapped Harold on the back with a hearty chuckle.
"Ahhh, just kidding, Gerald! Man- you should have seen your face! Now that was a joke!! Phew!... No, but really, we were just having a little fun with you. That's no problem!"
Harold forced another smile as he was jostled aggressively, despite his best attempts to stay upright, with each clap Superman made on his back, and his eyes widened with obvious surprise. He let out a large breath of relief. "Oh, ok. So you're.. not mad, then? And… you'll save your weights? Gee, thanks man, that really would save me a ton of time.."
Superman nodded assuredly. "Oh, yeah, yeah, sure thing! I just feel bad for all the poor, sorry saps before you… We've been coming here for years, and no one's ever said anything."
Harold narrowly avoided wincing as the weights resumed their clanging orchestra and stole a glance down at the man's bulging, glistening bicep with a nervous laugh.
"Heh, yeah, that's crazy. No idea man... Uh, excuse me a minute won't you..."
Joke or not, he still really needed to go to the bathroom.
Harold groaned as Superman seemed to instantly materialize on the opposite side of the gym and began to frisbee toss specialized 100lb. pound plates to Aquaman, who promptly loaded them onto a barbell. The two heroes had been at their work out for a while now, and the bar was already loaded down with over a dozen plates on each side. Another instant later, Superman seemed to poof back into the squat rack and was adjusting the weight across his back before moving into his repetitions.
"Pft! You call that a rep?!"
Harold stole inconspicuous, side long glances at the superheroes, mumbling irritably to himself as the duo half squatted their way through another handful of sets, just to see if the biker shorts wearing bastards would bother returning the plates to their proper place once they were finished. But, of course, they did not.
Harold let out a long, slow breath as his thumb and forefinger pinched the bridge of his nose. He was at his wits end.
He'd only worked at SuperSpot, a gym tailored to the super needs of the superheroes of the world, for the last three months. He'd been there just long enough to learn his way around the massive weight room and, just three days prior, he'd been promoted to Floor Supervisor, a position that, he learned a little too late, included cleaning and staging the entire gym floor at the end of every night. As he watched The Flash zip around the room and disrupt three machines he'd just wiped down, seemingly simultaneously, he quickly understood why there was such a high turnaround rate associated with the position. He was ready to quit and go back to the easy life of registering new members and laundering the used towels already! These people were uncontrollable! Weights littered the gym floor and racks, in all the wrong places, and machines glistened with the sweat of the hard-working superheroes.
Harold had spent nearly three hours, unpaid, cleaning and reorganizing the weight room the last three evenings, and here those same muscle heads were- ruining it yet again! And with only thirty minutes left until close at that!
"Fucking Super Man and his super crew… Hmph! I wonder just how super everyone would think they were if they'd seen them in Jenny's hip hop Zumba class this afternoon..."
Harold grumbled under his breath as he sprayed a leg press machine with disinfectant. He wiped at the machine angrily with a rag, flinching sporadically, as metal clanked around on the far side of the gym. This would go on in the same fashion for another ten minutes or so, with Harold huffing inaudibly to himself as he cleaned, while Superman and his friends continued on with their workout, none the wiser. Finally, after what felt like the thousandth jarring clank, Harold's neck snapped up, and as his gaze scoured the space for the source of the sound. Instead, it landed on a bulletin board that the trainers had littered with informative flyers showcasing all of the different group workouts being offered for the month, and an idea struck him suddenly. He abandoned his cleaning task and walked briskly over to the computer behind the front desk, where his oversized fingers jabbed awkwardly at the keyboard.
A short while later, Harold proudly, and gingerly, held a crisp white sheet of paper in his hands. He passed a flat palm over his head to straighten his hair as a draft disrupted it and read over his work carefully.
|
** PLEASE ** RERACK YOUR WEIGHTS & WIPE DOWN MACHINES AFTER USE!!! ********* Violating members will be subject to additional fines. We thank you for your cooperation, - MGMT. |
Perfect! Now all he had to do was make a few copies and tape them up.
His gaze locked on a large empty space on the wall, right in the middle of the weighted space, where he could put up a few flyers. Everyone would see them; they'd be impossible to miss!
Harold gulped softly, with swiftly diminishing confidence, as he realized that not only would he have to walk past a large majority of the few heavy lifters left (Superman, Aquaman, and, at the present second, The Flash included) but also, that there was no way he could traverse the space and tape up the flyers unnoticed. He had just settled on the idea that he would suck it up and suffer through one last night of cleaning and then post the flyer, once the floor was empty, when it slowly settled in that he'd already been noticed.
The entire weight room had halted in their workout and was staring at him. The silence was defeating, and Harold's complexion paled considerably on the spot in response to the sudden unwanted attention.
Superman's gaze seemed particularly steely, and Harold wondered briefly if there was a second's warning before the man's eyes shot laser beams or if he was liable to be split into two at any given moment.
"So- you want us to rack our weights?! Or should I speak to 'management'…" Superman yelled out, his fingers lifting to make air quotes as the vein in his neck pulsed threateningly.
Harold gulped again and quickly crumpled the paper in his hand into a small ball and jammed his hands into his pockets as his face went beat red and he worked double time to keep himself from pissing his pants. He could only assume the draft he'd felt a minute before had actually been any one of the speedy Supers passing by and reading the flyer over his shoulder before sharing the message with the rest of the gym goers. He could have slapped himself for being so foolish! It was just a few misplaced weights and uncleaned machines… now he had a gym full of pumped up, pissed off heroes to deal with too! His breath quickened nervously.
"Ohh.. uhhh… that…Well, um- No. No, no, no…" Harold looked around the room, becoming more and more frantic with each disgruntled face he landed on. A sweat broke out on his brow as he licked at his lips excessively.
"That was uhhh- just a joke... Ha haha-" He rasped out and forced a chuckle before grabbing at the disinfectant and beginning to rigidly clean the nearest machine. Maybe if he pretended nothing had happened everyone would just go back to their work out...
The gym erupted into a chorus of hoots and guffaws.
Harold's eyes jerked up, confusion furrowing his brow.
"Huh?!" Superman was suddenly beside him, wiping at his eyes as he clapped Harold on the back with a hearty chuckle.
"Ahhh, just kidding, Gerald! Man- you should have seen your face! Now that was a joke!! Phew!... No, but really, we were just having a little fun with you. That's no problem!"
Harold forced another smile as he was jostled aggressively, despite his best attempts to stay upright, with each clap Superman made on his back, and his eyes widened with obvious surprise. He let out a large breath of relief. "Oh, ok. So you're.. not mad, then? And… you'll save your weights? Gee, thanks man, that really would save me a ton of time.."
Superman nodded assuredly. "Oh, yeah, yeah, sure thing! I just feel bad for all the poor, sorry saps before you… We've been coming here for years, and no one's ever said anything."
Harold narrowly avoided wincing as the weights resumed their clanging orchestra and stole a glance down at the man's bulging, glistening bicep with a nervous laugh.
"Heh, yeah, that's crazy. No idea man... Uh, excuse me a minute won't you..."
Joke or not, he still really needed to go to the bathroom.
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